


not all who wander are decent human beings

by ryuuzaou



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Businessman Karma, Frottage, Hitman Nagisa, M/M, Running From The Cops, Size Difference, i feel like 'running from the cops' is a tag more people should use, i'd say size kink but..... it isnt really, karma brings out the snark in nagisa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:17:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6330730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryuuzaou/pseuds/ryuuzaou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karma Akabane is desperate for a break in his routine. That's when someone jumped into his car, pressed a gun to his side, and told him to drive.</p><p>Technically, it's exactly what he wanted. Just not what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> strongly inspired by [asofterworld 1082](http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=1082)

Routine is boring.

Unfortunately, that’s all Karma’s life seems to be. Routine. 

Wake up at 6:00. Hit snooze once. Get up at 6:05. Take shower, brush teeth. Put on slacks, button up a shirt. Grab a belt, a coat, a tie. Throw some bread in the toaster. Put on tie while waiting for toast. Pour some water in the Keurig, shove a mug under it and wait for it to brew (Green Mountain Kenyan AA, obviously the best). Slip on belt. Eat toast, drink coffee. Shrug on suit jacket. Take trenchcoat from the wall hook. Take keys from the wall hook. Slip on shoes, good to go.

A simple process, his morning routine. Work is almost identical each day, as well. The only real variable is his secretary’s choice of eye shadow. She’s been using an earthy palette lately, probably since he mentioned that the green looked nice with her hazel eyes. It hadn’t been a compliment, not really, but ever since then she flutters her eyelashes at him when he walks into a room, waiting for another comment like a dog begs for a treat. 

It’s been like this for years, since the moment he stepped out of college. Working his way to the top of the ranks had been easier than the majority of his midterms. Now he has his own office with a 36th-story view and a cherry wood desk and a leather couch. None of it really matters to him, though. It’s all just a part of the routine. 

On an overcast day in early March, Karma decides to drive to work rather than walk, in case it rains. He doesn’t mind walking in the rain, but his hair looks noticeably more slick than usual, and that’s enough of a change that he doesn’t want it to go to waste. His company offered him a car, but it would technically still be the company’s car, so he denied. Sure, the company is  _ also  _ technically his, but he’d rather have the purchase in his name. Plus, the company only had cars that were five years old at the youngest, and Karma’d had his eyes on a black ‘16 BMW i8 for a while (which had absolutely been worth the cost; it feels more like flying than driving and looks like a butler should be opening the door for a supermodel to step out). 

Normally, he loves driving his car. Other drivers seem to get a vibe of importance from it, and they practically whip into another lane so he can glide by. His routine is boring, but the driving part of it gives him a little satisfaction. 

A toppled pile of folders at work has Karma leaving an hour or so late, eager to sulk over a glass of scotch. The extra hour is enough time for the sun to set almost completely, so the horizon is barely tinted lavender, just a few minutes from being smothered by the night sky. Karma has the windows down, letting in the cooling air and ruffling his hair. He’d avoided the highway tonight, and the drive is leisurely. Over the quiet radio, he can hear a group of people talking loudly on the sidewalk, the muffled music from inside a bar he passes, and distant sirens. Oh, make that not-so-distant. Karma keeps his eyes on the mirrors, ready to pull over if need be. 

At a stop sign, Karma comes to a rolling stop. At the moment he glances to the left, something is thrown into the passenger seat. That something appears to be a person. Karma is less deterred by this than he would have expected himself to be.

The individual is wearing all black. Over tight long sleeves, thick vest with many pockets and a high collar and hood. Their boots look like they have some sort of pocket on the sides. Their pants are fairly tight, with cargo pockets on the thighs. A thick belt rests on their hips, but from the look of all the compartments it seems to have, Karma assumes its purpose is more than holding his pants up.

Their hood is up, and their face is mostly in shadow, but Karma can see their eyes, bright, wild blue. He only has a second to take this all in before the barrel of a gun is pressed against his side. 

“Drive, or I’ll shoot you and do it myself,” the individual growls. 

_ Well,  _ Karma thinks, listening to the sirens grow ever-closer,  _ I always did want a break in routine. _

Rather than slamming the pedal to the floor, as the individual probably wants him to, Karma flicks off his headlights completely and accelerates slowly, the engine’s hum almost inaudible beneath the radio. 

The individual twists to watch behind them, gun still steady against Karma’s side. “What the hell are you doing?” they hiss, pushing the gun more firmly against him. 

“The sudden revving of the engine would be an obvious giveaway to your location, not to mention noise complaints,” Karma explains smoothly, running three red lights and narrowly avoiding a Volkswagon Beetle. “And my headlights moving so quickly through a neighborhood district would raise suspicion, as well.” 

They’re silent. “Oh,” they say after a moment. Then they narrow their eyes. “You’re headed toward the highway. Why aren’t you turning me in?” 

“Would you rather I did?” Karma asks, making a lucky green on the on-ramp and accelerating to speed in seconds. “I still could, if you’d like.” 

“Wh—no! I mean, please don’t,” they burst out, and the pressure of the gun lightens a bit against his side. They position themself more comfortably on the seat, but still look ready to leap into motion at any moment. “I just think it’s odd that, y’know, an obvious criminal jumped into your car and threatened to shoot you, and you just… rolled with it.” They lean a little more into the back of the seat, expression thoughtful. “And you didn’t freak out and floor it. You stayed calm and did the most logical course of action.”

The speedometer wavers between 105 and 110 miles per hour as Karma weaves seamlessly between cars. He shrugs. “I figure it’s usually a matter of hesitation. I’m not missing anything if I go on a bit of a road trip, and I’ve got the connections to get out of any legal trouble. My CEO knows what he’s doing, so it isn’t like my business will fall to pieces if I’m gone a while.”

“Okay, sure, but it’s just  _ weird.  _ I get the feeling you’ve done this kind of thing before.”

Karma says nothing, simply casts his passenger a side-eyed glance and a smirk. 

Their jaw drops, lips a little ‘o’, before they shake their head and checks behind them again. The distant sound of sirens is gone. Karma reaches over to adjust the radio.

“ _ Attention: police seeking public assistance to locate wanted woman. Slim…”  _

The individual turns the station to some sort of electronic pop with a thin smile. “See, that’s why they’ve never found me.” 

“Because you’re slim?” Karma asks.

They give him an unamused glance. “No. Because they can’t pin a gender on me, and that’s a huge part of their investigations, or public announcements. ‘Slim, 5’4, wears mostly black’? That describes about forty percent of high schoolers everywhere. As long as I keep my hood pinned to my hair, they won’t get that feature, either.” 

The highway has narrowed to two lanes, no other cars in sight. Towns on the highway-side are few and far between. Karma wonders how long he’ll keep driving. “Well, since we’ll probably be together a while, we may as well introduce ourselves,” Karma suggests, setting Cruise Control to 100mph. “My name is Karma Akabane.” 

The individual looks dubious for a second, then sighs. They tuck the gun somewhere on their person. “You can call me Nagisa, I guess. And I’m not really picky about my gender, just… don’t use ‘she’ pronouns, and—” they stop (he? Sure, whatever). “Wait. Wait wait wait. Akabane? As in, Akabane Enterprises? As in, Akabane Enterprises, famous for its, like, everything?” 

“‘Famous for, like, everything’ is a great summary of my business,” Karma says. “Can I use that in my next commercial?” 

“Oh jeez, you’re not joking! You’re completely serious right now!” Nagisa gasps. He rocks forward in his seat, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. “Of all cars to jump into, and I pick the president of—”

“Chairman,” Karma corrects.

“Chairman, whatever—of one of the biggest companies in the country. What’s with my luck tonight?” he whines. 

The dashboard clock reads 20:32. Karma figures he can drive on the highway for another two hours or so before he has to stop for gas. They have a while. “Your luck? Think of mine,” Karma sighs. “I was going to treat myself tonight, too. A new Panda Express opened just down the block from my building. Such a shame.” 

“My heart bleeds,” Nagisa intones, rolling his eyes. “Aren’t you at all curious about what I did to have a PSA about me?” 

Karma shrugs. “I thought it might be impolite to ask. Like a ‘How did you lose your entire arm?’-type situation.”

“I killed a man.”

The way it’s said is very blunt, almost completely emotionless apart from a little bit of something that sounds suspiciously cocky. Karma actually blinks, turning his head toward his passenger. He looks him over, top to bottom, and raises his eyebrows before turning back to the road. 

“You don’t exactly look the type, but as long as you’re not getting blood on the seat, I don’t particularly care what you did.” A lie. Karma is bursting with curiosity—how did he kill him? Was it easy? Was he hired? Why did someone want him to die? How did the police get involved?—but he keeps it in. 

Nagisa stares at him expectantly. He fiddles with his pockets. The hem of his hood. Stretches his fingers in his gloves. Then he exclaims, “Oh, come on! If you want to ask, ask already!” 

“Fine, you got me. Can I take you out to dinner?”

The startled noise Nagisa makes is enough to make Karma want to snicker, but he has an image to uphold, here, and he isn’t letting it go now. 

“D-did you just ask me out?” In the dim light of the dashboard, Nagisa looks like he’s actually  _ blushing.  _

“You told me to ask.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little insensitive? You encouraged me to express my feelings, and I did.” Karma hums. “Should I consider this a rejection, then? My diary will be tear-stained tonight.” 

Nagisa crosses and uncrosses his arms. He grumbles something about air conditioning and it being hot, reaches under his hood to unfasten whatever clips hold it to his hair, and lets it fall. There’s no denying the fact that Karma’s gaze did hover on Nagisa’s unhooded profile a bit longer than it probably should have. 

Someone has caught his attention for the first time in years, and he’s probably a hitman. A hitman that will be sitting in his passenger seat for at least two more hours. A hitman that has a small scar on his cheekbone and a soft jawline and thick, fine-looking hair that Karma sort-of-definitely wants to run his fingers through. 

_ Leave it to me,  _ Karma thinks, more than a little frustrated at his current predicament. Especially when Nagisa presses his cheek to the window and gasps something about the stars, and the overwhelming temptation to pull over, lay his jacket on the dying grass, and lie with Nagisa, pointing out constellations he memorized out of boredom. 

God damn it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> scynthiadeathscythe, anon, kirio918, and shymin get at least 1000000000000 thank yous it's thanks to all y'all that i actually had a reason to force myself to keep writing and keep my motivation going strong <3

Tiny, local diners are better than expensive big-name restaurants. 

Now, this is simply a conclusion Karma has come to himself. Call it an opinion if you’d like, but it’s definitely more than that. Maybe a nationwide poll would prove him wrong, but Nagisa agrees, and that’s all that matters in the long run, isn’t it? Okay, maybe a hitman agreeing with him on something isn’t the  _ best  _ thing in the world, depending on the situation, but no one’s talking about whether or not someone deserves death (although, Karma wouldn’t mind discussing that, if it means more time spent watching those beautiful lips move). 

It is in a tiny, local diner where they sit currently. There are no security cameras. They don’t even have a computerized cash register. When they’d walked in, Nagisa had joked that it felt like Karma researched these kinds of things. Karma had replied, again, with only a smirk, and Nagisa’s expression, again, was the little ‘o’ of his lips. 

They sit across from each other at a table that feels like it’ll fall apart at any moment. Karma mentions that the pizzas here are surprisingly good for such a quaint little place, and Nagisa shows eagerness to try it, so that’s what they order. They chat and watch a controversial news network on the small television by the cash register and make fun of the anchors. Karma convinces Nagisa to share a shake with him. Overall, it feels  _ very  _ much like a date. Perhaps the fact that a date with a hitman has gone better than any and all dates Karma has been on previously in his life is a sign that he needs to sort through his standards. 

Or maybe the destined best-date-of-his-life has always been Nagisa, who just  _ happens  _ to be a hitman. 

Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.

Karma gives Nagisa his phone to look up motels in the area while he gets gas, since he has to go in and pay cash. When his tank is full and he’s back behind the wheel, Nagisa points out a motel that’s dead-set in the middle of nowhere. It’s about a forty-five minute back-roads drive from where they are now, and the only buildings near it are a tiny grocery store and a tiny liquor store, which share the same lot. It has an indoor pool and free wifi, which, according to Karma, is his checklist for when he’s away from home. Nagisa can’t seem to tell whether or not he’s joking. He is, but it’s more fun to keep Nagisa guessing. He is Karma Akabane, Chairman of Akabane Enterprises (famous for its, like, everything) by day, Enigma to Nagisa the Hitman by night. 

The motel is definitely small, to say the least. Nagisa waits in the car while Karma goes in and pays for a room—he jokes with the old lady behind the desk that his car is  _ so  _ unreliable, and how it’s  _ just like him  _ to get lost on top of that. She smiles sympathetically and pats his hand when she passes him the key to the room. He and Nagisa poke their heads in to look at the pool before they open up the room; it’s surprisingly nice for the motel’s size. 

It’s the inside of the room that reminds them of the quality of the place they’d be hiding out. The single bed is probably a double, and even so, there’s only just enough room for the bed, a tiny box television that’s smaller than Karma’s laptop screen, and a luggage stand propped against the wall. The bathroom is just as cramped: there’s room between the stall shower, toilet, and sink to do a little twirl, but not much more than that. 

Luckily, it isn’t like they have any luggage to take up space, so that’s one less thing they have to worry about. Karma tosses himself onto the mattress, which sags under his weight but, surprisingly, doesn’t creak. He bounces a little. 

“It could be worse,” he says. “What if it didn’t have a pool? How could I fall asleep knowing there isn’t hundreds of gallons of chlorinated water under the same roof?” 

“You’re not even the least bit worried about sleeping arrangements?” Nagisa asks, suspiciously looking over the mattress. “There… isn’t that much room.”

Karma waves a hand dismissively. “So what? We just spent almost three hours in close quarters. We’re on the run from the same cops, right? Sharing a bed’s no big deal.”

“I’m so sorry about that,” Nagisa says, for the millionth time of the night. “I didn’t want to get anyone else involved, I really didn’t, especially not someone as important as you.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended that you don’t want to be on the run from the cops with me,” Karma remarks, which earns him a light smack to the back of his head and a laugh from Nagisa.

Nagisa, who is currently unzipping his vest and unfastening his belt. When he places them carefully on the luggage rack, the yellowish lamplight does a  _ wonderful  _ job showing just how tight the long sleeved shirt Nagisa wears is. Nagisa’s next move is—good lord, he’s definitely taking off his pants right now, yup. 

Heaven help him, Nagisa’s definitely absolutely wearing  _ short-shorts  _ and  _ thigh highs _ under his cargo pants. 

It takes more willpower than Karma ever believed he had to keep himself from staring outright, and even then, it’s very, very difficult.

Nagisa sighs, as if a load was taken off his shoulders, and judging by the thickness of that vest, that probably isn’t far from the truth. He closes himself in the bathroom, and Karma takes the opportunity to quickly strip off his coat, jacket, and belt. He’s in the middle of loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt when Nagisa emerges, sees Karma, and promptly goes red in the face. Okay, so the attraction is mutual. Good to know. Karma raises an eyebrow in amusement at the current shade of Nagisa’s face. 

“Everything okay?” he asks, pulling his tie by one end from under his collar. 

Nagisa swallows and pointedly averts his gaze. “F-fine!” he says, much louder than necessary. He practically throws himself underneath the blankets. His voice is muffled when he adds, “I’m going to sleep.”

Karma finishes unbuttoning his shirt and tosses it with the rest of his things, sliding under the blankets alongside Nagisa. In this position, it is much more obvious how different their body types are. Nagisa is slender and lithe, an unassuming form, one that would make none suspicious at first sight. It’s obvious how easy it must have been to throw himself into Karma’s window. Karma, while still fairly narrow compared to average, is broader in most aspects than Nagisa, and much taller. 

“Jeez, how do you sleep at night when you’re so busy being  _ a giant _ ?” Nagisa mutters, tugging at the blankets. 

“I’m not giant, you’re just tiny,” Karma says. 

“I literally killed someone today,” Nagisa says. “And you’re calling me  _ tiny. _ ” 

“In stature, not in presence,” Karma amends. “By the way, why’d you kill him?” 

Nagisa turns his head, glancing at Karma over his shoulder. He sighs, then turns his body completely so he’s on his side, facing Karma. “You’ve probably figured out that I’m an assassin already, so why are you asking?” 

“I was mentally using the term ‘hitman,’” Karma mentions.

“Well, they’re sort of the same thing,” Nagisa says. “But hitmen are cheaper, and they have less standards. They do the easy, grunt work, y’know? Hitmen handle the petty jobs, like ‘this guy had sex with my wife.’ Assassins are a little more… elegant.”

“How did you kill him?”

“Why are you so eager to talk about murder right before bed?” Nagisa huffs. He’s silent for a few moments, then says, “Sodium cyanide. If you  _ had  _ to know.” 

“Impressive,” Karma says. Then he pokes Nagisa’s chest. “How’d the police get involved?”

Nagisa snorts. “I set off the alarm in the gift shop of the hotel on the way out. Fun fact: some hotels don’t use cages to close off their gift shops, they just have motion sensors.” He sighs. “Never taking a shortcut I didn’t verify again.”

“‘Assassins are a little more  _ elegant, _ ’” Karma quotes, grinning in the dark. 

In an instant, Nagisa is on top of Karma, knees on either side of his hips and forearm pressed to his throat. The look in his eyes is nothing but predatory, as is the upward quirk of his lips. “We all make mistakes,” he whispers, breath hot on Karma’s lips. 

“I hope this isn’t one,” Karma murmurs, and kisses him. 

It’s expected, and apparently looked forward to, because there’s absolutely no hesitance in Nagisa’s kiss. He shifts to hold Karma’s face in his hands, pressing himself completely against Karma, who rocks his hips upward experimentally in response. Nagisa hums pleasantly, hand moving down to traces his jugular, touches featherlight. Karma reaches up, one hand settling on the small of Nagisa’s back and the other cradling his cheek, holding back some of his bangs. It is at this moment that Karma rolls them over just as quickly as Nagisa had moved before. Nagisa yelps, then glowers at the man that’s now atop him. Karma simply grins. 

“You cover me completely,” Nagisa grumbles, adjusting his legs. “I could use you as a blanket, if your dick wasn’t stabbing me in the leg.”

Karma props himself on his elbows, frowning down at Nagisa. “This is your fault, you know. And you speak like  _ you’re  _ any better.”

“Shut up! This is  _ your  _ fault!” 

“I guess I have to take responsibility, huh?” Karma’s voice is devilish as he reaches a hand between them.

Unfortunately, it’s grabbed by Nagisa, whose expression actually reveals a little bit of nervousness. “Wait, wait, hold on, Karma,” he chokes out, more breath than voice. “Let’s—can we just—is it okay if, um, we don’t actually, y’know…” 

Karma pauses, sitting back on his heels to give him space. “Are you okay? I’m sorry if I did somethi—”

“No no no, no, trust me, you absolutely didn’t!” Nagisa gasps, and he grinds his hips up against Karma’s as if for emphasis. “I promise. I just, um, can we not go… all the way?” 

“That’s fine, Nagisa,” Karma says, “but can I touch your dick or not, because I’m getting a little antsy here.” 

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, dick touching is more than okay,” Nagisa agrees, sitting up with Karma to unfasten his slacks for him. Karma hisses out a breath when Nagisa pulls him from his boxers, leaning forward to kiss him again. This kiss is more intense than the last, all teeth and tongue. Nagisa withdraws his legs from beneath Karma, then practically chirps when Karma lifts him by the waist to set him over his lap to straddle it. A hand traces the top of one of Nagisa’s thigh highs, the other reaching down his shorts (and isn’t stopped this time). Nagisa sucks in a sharp breath and lets it out shakily. Karma watches his throat as he swallows. 

Nagisa rocks his whole body forward, releasing a quiet sound when his hot length touches Karma’s own. It’s good to know this feeling is mutual, because it makes it a little less embarrassing how quickly Karma spit into his hand to wrap it around their cocks. His free hand goes to Nagisa’s hair. After a nod from Nagisa, he pulls the hairties out, letting blue locks fall across his shoulders. Karma grips the back of it to pull back his head so he can pepper Nagisa’s neck with nips and kisses. At this point, they’re both moving together in earnest, Karma rolling his hips up and Nagisa grinding his down. The rhythm itself is uneven but feels perfect. Although, the sight of the assassin as a desperate, panting mess definitely doesn’t hurt, either. 

“K-Karma, I— _ fuck,  _ I’m—” Nagisa places a hand over Karma’s own, tightening his grip, and wraps the other around Karma’s shoulders. He says something else, indistinct among breathy curses and chants of Karma’s name, before his back arches and he spills over their stomachs. 

Karma isn’t doing any better, muttering, “Nagisa, Nagisa,  _ Nagisa, _ ” like a prayer between the bites he trails along his throat. The feeling of Nagisa pulsing under his palm is  _ really  _ what gets him, what has him coming undone with a moan from deep in his chest. He draws back his head and gently guides Nagisa’s forward to kiss him, pumping his hand until he’s certain they’re both completely spent. 

They rest their foreheads together as they catch their breath. Every now and then, Nagisa will peck his lips, smiling, and he is  _ way too cute  _ to be an assassin. 

(Well, Karma has never really set any standards for how cute assassins should be, but to be honest, Nagisa is too cute to exist, basically, so the whole ‘assassin’ part doesn’t make too much of a difference. It just makes for a better excuse.)

Nagisa moves back, to Karma’s dismay, and pushes himself to his feet. He pads wordlessly over to the bathroom, then says, “Oh, gross. I have jizz all over my stomach.”

“That was the worst post-sex one-liner I’ve ever heard in my life,” Karma scoffs. 

The faucet turns on, and something splashes under it. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was being judged. Can I try again?”

“It’s too late, you’ve used it up. Gotta wait ‘til next time.”

“I was going to change it to, ‘Hey Karma, your gross jizz is all over my stomach.’”

“Not all of that is mine, you know,” Karma complains. “Who was it that came first again? Under my skilled hands and lips?”

A damp washcloth hits him directly in the face. Karma laughs, wiping off his stomach and hands before throwing it back toward Nagisa, who doesn’t even catch it, just bats it in midair into the bathroom. He walks back to the bed, shuffling on his knees to Karma, wrapping his arms around him, and pulling them both so they fall onto the pillows. Karma lets himself be arranged so that he’s sort of on his side, with Nagisa’s head on his chest and their legs tangled together. Nagisa’s fingers trace little patterns on Karma’s collarbone, and he hums at the touch. 

“Are you going to be here in the morning?” Karma asks, running his hand through Nagisa’s hair. 

Nagisa leans into the touch. “Well, yeah. You’re better at running from the cops than  _ I  _ am, and I have a lot of experience.” 

“Aw, is that the only reason? I thought my charms and beautiful hands had something to do with it.” 

“Maybe. I’m trying to stay on the business side of things.” 

“You moaned louder than I did.”

“That has nothing to do with my business sense.”

“I’m just saying that a good, elegant assassin might be more mindful of his neighbors.”

Silence. “I’m too tired to match your quick wits. You win this round, Akabane. Don’t call the cops while I’m asleep.”

Karma kisses the top of Nagisa’s head, and the assassin burrows closer. “Hold on, before you sleep, I want to let you know that I’m driving toward the beach.” 

This catches Nagisa’s attention. He lifts his head groggily. “What?”

“I got the family beach house after my parents died. Inheritance, and all that. That’s where I’m driving.” 

“Hm.” He settles again. Karma feels his eyelashes flutter when he closes his eyes again. “I’ve never had a destination before. It’s nice.” 

Before he can agree, Nagisa’s breath has already fallen steady with sleep. 

For the first time in years, Karma isn’t reluctant to wake up in the morning. Yes, he’s in a cheap motel in the middle of nowhere with an established assassin, but the motel has a pool and free wifi, the middle of nowhere is prettier than the city, and his established assassin is warm and wonderful. Maybe he’ll use all of those vacation days that he’s built up over the years. Nagisa’s already smashed his routine to pieces. Karma will have to make him take responsibility, and he’ll be sure to make Nagisa a part of his new one.

If Nagisa is in it, Karma thinks, a routine wouldn’t be so bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i must also apologize to stormiscoming because the size kink was not very prominent but i also have to say i haven't written smut with ANY details in like ever? but hey w/e i used the words 'hot length' and i'm alright with that

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading save the bees & consider [buying me a coffee](http://ko-fi.com/ryuuzaou) or hitting me up on [the hellsite](http://todoiizuku.tumblr.com)


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